


Remember

by ziennajames



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: 40's!Bucky/WinterSoldier, Buckycest, Dom/sub Undertones, I hope you don't expect a happy ending, In which WS hallucinates things and has no idea about who, M/M, Sub!Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-05
Updated: 2014-11-05
Packaged: 2018-02-24 05:57:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2570669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ziennajames/pseuds/ziennajames
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We liked that, remember?” He guides your hand down his stomach with his own. He has unbuttoned his shirt for you and it surprised you. You are not used to others exposing themselves to you like this, leaving themselves vulnerable. They always wear a weapon or a mask, or they restrain you in some way. They prove themselves to be in power. He does not. He stares back, aims for your eyes without darting, and keeps his face open.</p><p>You think it could be nice for a change, being trusted like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remember

**Author's Note:**

> * capspatrioticpecs: /whispers: subby bucky  
> * sonickitty: both bucky's. at the same time. with each other.  
> * eatingcroutons: winter soldier learning by doing, remembering by taking bucky apart

“We liked that, remember?” He guides your hand down his stomach with his own. He had unbuttoned his shirt for you, which was surprising. You are not used to others exposing themselves to you like this, leaving themselves vulnerable. They always wear a weapon or a mask, or they restrain you in some way. They always prove themselves to be in power. He does not. He stares back, aims for your eyes without darting, and keeps his face open.

 

 

(You wonder why he seems so insistent on your freedom in trade for his safety. You wonder if the risk is what interests him. You wonder if he knows what he is doing, what those risks are, how many people have died by your hands or have been injured by them. You wonder if he has a death wish. You wonder if he is merely underestimating you, or if you are underestimating him.

Either way, you think his path is unwise. You also think it could be nice for a change, being trusted like this.)

 

 

You see no reason not to take advantage. You take your time to stare at him and to take everything in. He does not seem to mind that you paused, does not seem to mind that you do not lock your eyes on his like he does. For now, he is patient.

You notice his lashes are very long. You choose them as a focus point to return to while you work over his face methodically, gathering intel. This is a part you know. This, you have been trained on. You look away as soon as you feel that you know enough about the boy. Man. Boy.

 

 

(He looks familiar, but you do not know why. He might have been a mission at some point, or a medic. Involved, but not deeply. Not a handler. You would recognize a handler.

You are relieved to move on.)

 

 

His chest is mostly unblemished, unlike yours, and smooth. Soft. He presses your hand tighter against his skin, forcing your hand flat and spread. Where you add pressure to the skin the flesh underneath moves with it, unlike yours. Unlike yours, his skin is warm and heating up quickly, so much that your sensors are picking up on it in alarm. You wonder if your hand feels cold as it touches him. Your arm whirs, twitching, and he tightens his grip on it.

You watch.

 

 

(He seems to enjoy touching you. You seem to enjoy touching him. You have not had the chance to like a lot of things in the past few years. You have not had the chance to  _choose_  a lot of things in the past few years. You think about this as catching up.

You take no action to wrench your arm away again.)

 

 

He keeps moving your hand down, more insistently now. You check in on his face and you see that he is smiling. It is not a smile you know. It is not a grimace, a smirk, a sneer, but soft. You raise your other hand to his lips to press your fingers to them, to see if they dent with the pressure like the rest of his body does.

They do, and open.

When you press again, your fingers putting pressure to his mouth as he is doing to your left hand, he breathes on them before sucking them in till the second digit. He lowers his eyelids, but does not close his eyes completely. When you push in to see what happens, they do.

His lashes are your focus point for a different reason now. You find that you miss his eyes when he closes them. Uncomfortable as they make you, trading them for housing your fingers in his mouth feels foolish. You pull back and he whines, moving to chase after them. Your left hand, still pressed against his chest, stops him from moving too fast, too far. His own hands he keeps where they are, the one clasping your left hand pushing, the other pressed between his legs. He whines till you feed him again, licking at the skin you give him.

This time, when he keep his eyes open deliberately, you are no longer evading. You watch and you listen.

 

 

(You did not mean for this to happen, but he seems to be enjoying this. You seem to be enjoying this. You see no reason to stop, still. If you would want to, you could easily overpower him. You have been trained to disarm and kill in the span of 3.8 seconds. You are not worried about yourself.)

 

 

Your sensors pick up the vibrations when he hums and swallows. You can not quite decide if you want to move your hand to clasp around his throat or move it further down to where he wants you to, where he is pressing into his other hand. There are things you want to do, choices you want to make, all of them at the same time. You can't.

You move your hand up, taking his with it, to leave at the side of his neck. You press the pulse-point with your left while you push harder between his lips with your right, ten beats for every drag in and out.

He breathes, and sucks, and shivers.

 

 

(You think that the way he looks at you borders on grateful and you do not know why. You do not stop to think. This is okay. This is just another choice you are making. Having choices is a good thing. You could get used to this.)

 

 

Something about him reminds you of static and things that were, of floating, and of stories and histories. It startles you like a wild animal. His face wavers.

He is here and now and solid, more so than any other glimpses you have had of your before, but he has not spoken since those first four words and you are already losing grip on what his voice sounded like. You can not bring yourself to take your fingers from between his lips to hear.

He is here and now and solid and you press yourself closer to him, forcing yourself to remember what it feels like.

Your sensors malfunction on the detection of his body-warmth.

His face wavers.

You will remember later, you think.

 

 

(They will not let you get used to this.

When you blink, he is gone.)

**Author's Note:**

> [Now also a pod-fic](http://capspatrioticpecs.tumblr.com/post/102810391236). Have I mentioned yet that I cry about sub!Bucky thoughts [on tumblr](http://capspatrioticpecs.tumblr.com) a lot?


End file.
